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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056531">Fragmented Freelancers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaronRoman/pseuds/AaronRoman'>AaronRoman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:47:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaronRoman/pseuds/AaronRoman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU- Laverinus Tucker is now a freelancer and is attempting to survive Project Freelancer. It's not going too well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dexter Grif &amp; Lavernius Tucker, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Leonard L. Church | AI Program Alpha/Agent Texas | AI Program Beta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Walking and Talking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Falling down into a canyon was not how he imagined this mission would go. The mission itself was supposed to check on an AI distress signal and leave. He was assigned to this mission with Recovery Two, aka Agent South Dakota, from Project Freelancer. So he thinks about what got him here. </p><p>A rock makes Michigan stumble and lose his balance. He grits his teeth as pain shoots through him. Agent fucking South. He just got shot by South. Just so she could flee with the Delta fragment, damn her. Not only did she shoot him but she also ruined his helmet radio. Acts of sabotage was nothing new to Michigan. </p><p>He's not sure how he was able to get up and move. Nor when he pulls up the nearest simulation base route. It was very slow going, walking to the sim base. The place he was left at was empty and compromised. His hand clutches at the dog tags around his neck, thinking about his own beacon didn't release a signal. How goddamn annoying.</p><p>Michigan must have stopped or blackout during his trip because he's now staring at the night sky. He does a quick checklist as he checks and redresses his wound. Since South found it funny to take his fucking biofoam off his person.</p><p>Name? Agent Michigan or Recovery One<br/>
Plan? Walking to a simulation plan<br/>
Occupation? Recovery Agent</p><p>Satisfied he wasn't dying from blood loss just yet, he checks his HUD for estimated arrival time. Long time. Too long. Michigan pushes himself up and walks in the dark. He probably had to sit and let his suit support him for a couple of times. Maybe he blackout, he couldn't remember. It's fine though. He tries to think. But his mind gets muddled with foriegn memories. </p><p>
  <i>Don’t say goodbye.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Daddy! Daddy!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Don’t leave me.</i>
</p><p>Michigan shook his head annoyed. What's he doing? He can't call for backup and he's probably going to die of blood loss. Would they even bother sending a recovery agent for his body if he died? Maybe South destroyed his chip. Maybe she had thought he wasn’t in enough god damn pain. He checks his map not paying attention to where he was walking. The base was still a distance, he’ll keep walking. 

But why is there even a base in the middle of nowhere anyways? He gets Project Freelancer needed simulation bases for some training purposes, but this was ridiculous. His hand collapses absent minded around his tags. Junior would hav- No let’s not take that train of thought.  


</p><p>*

</p><p>-3,594,595,596,597,598,599,600- Michigan stops to catch his breath and just wants to stop. His legs ached from walking, his mind numbed from boredom, and he’s sure the blood lost was finally catching up to him. His HUD has been glitching out, telling him he’s reached the simulation base. He growls and smacks his helmet, in hopes it’ll fix the problem. He couldn’t be at the simulation base if he wasn’t in the simulation base. The smack of his helmet did fix the problem, in a very bad way. 


</p><p>The speakers in his helmet come back online somehow and a loud beeping starts blaring in his head. His hands reached for the release triggers of his helmet but he couldn’t find them. Tripping over his feet, Michigan stumbles sideways as the beeping continues going through his skull. He manages to get himself semi-balanced and takes one more just to be sure. His foot was greeted with broken rocks and an empty drop. 

</p><p>He throws his arms open on instinct to find anything to stop his fall. His efforts were not rewarded and he starts his fall. Sharp pains entered through his body every single time his back made contact with the rocky surface. Thankfully he had his armor absorbed some of the impact but the armor wasn’t made to absorb falling down canyon walls unfortunately. The rolling lasts for maybe a bit more than a minute before he rolls across a flat surface and he lands on his back. 

</p><p>Michigan gets his helmet off last second before he starts puking what very little food was in his body. His head was left spinning after throwing up and his body shakes uncontrollably. He wipes his mouth and barely registers his movement of laying on his injured back. Considering his head was still very aggressively spinning, rapid heartbeat from either the fall or heat exhaustion, nausea and the lacking of life essential inputs like food and water. He’s still alive. He must have pissed someone off in a previous life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. There's A Not So Dead Body</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michigan passes out and two red soldiers find a body outside of base.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michigan manages to walk to the base step by step. How he hasn’t been spotted this close to the base is beyond him. Like, he’s 15 ft away from this thing and moving really slowly. Zombie walking slowly. His body did it’s best to stay up right as each step brought him closer to just dropping dead. Maybe if he shot his gun he could get someone’s attention? Would his body even be able to handle the recoil of the gun if he did that? His gaze flickers at his hand on the trigger before looking forward again. Now or n-<br/>
<br/>
“Dude, I don’t really give a fuck to begin with?” a voice from above says. Michigan’s head snaps <em> way </em>too fast for his body condition. He head goes fuzzy and he feels the ground. All he could do was choke on the air that rushes out of his dry throat and the pain radiating all over his back. He’s sure if he got up there would be a blood pattern that looked like he was shot, again. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. The Blues don’t do anything besides bicker and walk around their own base. And if Command caused the rocks to fall, well fuck them. I’m stationed in the middle of fucking nowhere because of them. It was probably an animal or something” the loudness of the voice leaves Michigan dizzy. Michigan choked down a sharp piece of hope that wanted to escape his head. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Get yourself together, he’s dead. You saw it for yourself.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Please. Shut up. Go away.</p><p> </p><p>Michigan focuses on the pain because honestly? That’s the only thing that is keeping him going. The gun somehow was still in his grasp and he’s not going to get up from this fall. He could already feel himself slipping into that darkness that greets him when things go wrong. Michigan doesn’t bother to aim and lets a few bullets go flying. He closes his eyes and sighs. Hello darkness, my old friend. How have you been?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Could be better. You?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Today was supposed to be very boring, like the day before and the day before that. There was a routine in the canyon, a routine that basically kept both sides disengaged from one another. That routine? Doing absolutely nothing. Private Dexter Grif was fine with that routine. The canyon itself was really fucking hot so it just makes you want to sleep for the most part. Even if he wasn't sleeping, there weren’t that many places to go anyways. There are only three locations in this place: blue base, the middle ground, and red base<br/>
<br/>
Blue base is blues base and is practically identical to red base. The only difference is the blue base is shifted and on the other side of the canyon. Grif hasn’t been in there for obvious reason, but the outside is identical to red base so his assumption should be fair game. Middle ground is just empty territory where most of the fire fights happen if the two teams decided to attack. Then Red base wasn’t any more interesting. </p><p>But that’s besides the point right now. The point is, nothing was supposed to happen today. So when Grif heard the crumbling of rocks behind him in this middle of nowhere base, he was not investigating it. He is not moving from his spot. Grif was not moving. No moving. That’s when a maroon soldier popped his head out from inside the base,”Grif? What the fuck was that?”<br/>
<br/>
Private Richard ‘Dick’ Simmons, or as Grif has dubbed him, Private Kissass Simmons. Grif tilted his head towards Simmons’ location. The tall maroon soldier strides towards him and gives Grif a helmet tilt. The orange soldier shrugs,”No clue, don’t care,” Because he doesn’t. He really really doesn’t. Grif was here to get away from his previous… Station. As long as he doesn’t engage with whatever happened, then nothing is going to happen. </p><p> </p><p>Simmons gives an irritated huff,”Grif. You’re on lookout duty right now. It’s literally your job to know,” He takes his spot next to Grif, an action Grif has identified as ‘I am not moving till you do’. Simmons has been posted with this guy for a while now and he already knows the routine. Well sort of. For someone as punctuation as Simmons is, the guy likes mixing routines. Or maybe there's a pattern he has yet to catch onto. <br/>
<br/>
“Can’t make me,”<br/>
<br/>
“Sarge gave me permission to kick your fatass,”<br/>
<br/>
“Right, as if <em> you </em> could actually kick,” Grif mutters under his breath. He saw this guy in basics. He couldn’t kick a grenade to save his life, literally. Simmons sputters indulgently at the statement. Grif could swear he could see his mouth opening and closing, face going as red as his stupid hair.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Okay but what if it is the Blues? We make sure they are, you know, actually dead? They might want to sneak up on us and kill us!” Simmons’ voice cracks towards the idea of potential danger.<br/>
<br/>
Grif sighs and turns to face Simmons, just to get his point across as clear as he can,”Dude, I don’t really give a fuck to begin with?” If he could get Simmons to get away from the rooftop, they can act like nothing happened, because nothing actually did happen. Some rocks fell downward and that’s it. </p><p> </p><p>Simmons crosses his arms annoyed.Different song and same dance number. When Grif won’t do something, he debates whether or not to tell Simmons why,“We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. The Blues don’t do anything besides bicker and walk around their own base. And if Command caused the rocks to fall, well fuck them. I’m stationed in the middle of fucking nowhere because of them. It was probably an animal or something,” </p><p> </p><p>Simmons sighs annoyed, words forming on his tongue when sudden gun fire goes off. Instinctively, Grif took several steps away from the gun fire. Simmons’ head probably told him to hide but it’s called <em> fight or flight, </em> not fight or hide response. His heart pounds at his chest as he looks around widely,”Son of a bitch! Where did that come from?! It must be the Blues!” He backs into Grif and Grif turns to have his back to Simmons,”I told you should have fucking looked! Now we’re going to die because you didn’t find the person’s location,”<br/>
<br/>
Grif lets out an irritated huff and pushes Simmons, making the lanky guy stumble forward,”Calm down for one second. Maybe it was just Lopez testing if he fixed Sarge’s recently destroyed gun,” Because if it was one of the blues which let’s be real, it probably wasn’t, they were really stupid to give their location off. From what he’s seen, the only dumb person on the other team was the self-proclaimed Captain, Church. The other guy though? Washington? Yeah, he was not someone he’s willing to go into a fight against. </p><p> </p><p>“Lopez wouldn’t just fire off bullets. He could easily test the gun without bullets in it,” Simmons counters and gets his balance back. He still looks around nervously, looking for the source of the bullets,”Maybe we should check in the directions of the rocks?” Grif just sighs and grumpily walks across the rooftop of the base then puts his arms up gesturing around him.<br/>
<br/>
“So I’m looking looking looking aaaannnd, there is officially n-OH FUCK,” Grif shouts and backs away from the edge. Simmons jolts and aims his gun to the right of Grif, panic gripping his insides.<br/>
<br/>
“Well?!” he hated how his voice was shrill but Grif just screamed and it just freaked him out way more than he wanted it to.<br/>
<br/>
“There’s…” Grif’s sentence drifting as he peaks over the edge again,”Oh my god… It’s an actual blue? Oh holy fuck I think they’re dead, Simmons! Come over here, there’s a dead blue!” there was blood surrounding the person’s body and they seemed to not be breathing, like at all. <br/>
<br/>
“Are you sure they are dead? They could be faking it like Lopez did that one time. He just faked being offline for a week before Sarge caught him moving to fix the plumbing system,” Simmons says hesitantly and made his way over to Grif. </p><p> </p><p>Grif got to his feet and stared at the body,”Well, they definitely look the part of dead. Look at how beaten up his armor is.. We’re going to check if they’re alive,”</p><p> </p><p>Simmons glares at Grif through his helmet,”Fuck no! We- I am not going anywhere near him! You’re on watch duty and you’re going to do it,”<br/>
<br/>
The two soldiers stared at each other for a few moments before both moved at the same time. Both go down into the base before exiting and standing in front of the aqua colored soldier. Simmons notes the soldier didn’t move in the two minutes that they were out of sight. Grif nudges Simmons,”So how are we going to do this?” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“This is a terrible plan. This was a terrible plan. This IS a terrible plan,” Simmons mutters under his breath as he drops the soldier on the floor in the living room. Yeah, just drag the body inside the base and strip them of their weapons and armor. He then gets the credit of finding the dead blue and gets the recognition he deserves. The only problem is there is now blood all over the base that he’s going clean. Grif was certainly not going to do it, Sarge would most likely order him to do it, and Lopez just did what he wanted to. </p><p> </p><p>Simmons stares at the body for a moment before removing the helmet first. He screams as the bo- person starts coughing wetly and blood spills from their lips. They groaned quietly and got back to being still. </p><p> </p><p>“Simmons! What in Sam's hell was that screaming?!” a gruff voice yells from somewhere in the base. </p><p> </p><p>The maroon soldier squeaks,”N-Nothing s-sir! Just hit my toe on t-the couch?” The lie was not even close to plausible since he was in power armor, but Sarge did not need to know that. </p><p> </p><p>“Well keep it down! I’m working over here!” Sarge yells before leaving it at that. Simmons sighs in relief and storms over to Grif’s room, presumably eating food. He doesn’t knock and opens the door immediately. Grif gives Simmons a look as the maroon soldier takes his helmet off. </p><p>“You idiot! You didn’t even check if the guy was alive?!” Simmon gestures at the general direction of living room area. Grif gives an impassive look and gets off his bed. Simmons waits for 3 minutes and 43 seconds for Grif to get up and go outside to check the guy laying on the <em> fucking </em>floor. </p><p> </p><p>Grif has to pause mid stride seeing the partially covered face of the soldier on the floor. He is, for once, grateful that he had his helmet on. Even if the cooling systems didn’t work, Simmons did not need to see his face. Grif crouches near the soldier and looks for the usual military issued dog tags,”Huh. Agent Michigan of…. PFL? Simmons, any chance you know what PFL is? Is it like the NFL or something?” he drops the tags and stands up. Crouching was taking <em> way </em>too much energy. </p><p> </p><p>“PFL? That… Doesn’t sound familiar. No, I don’t know what that is. But can we get back on topic of what we are supposed to do with the not so dead body? Sarge is probably going to shoot him on sight if he sees the blue armor. The guy is probably going to die of blood loss if we don’t get him some immediate medical attention,” Simmons taps his finger on his helmet and tries to think of the solution.<br/>
<br/>
“Lets… Strip him?” The statement came out as a question and now Grif feels really uncomfortable about this situation. Strip him? Strip him? Couldn’t he have phrased that anymore weirdly. The look on Simmons' face tells him that he also found that sentence very weird as well. </p><p> </p><p>“But what if the power armor is the only thing keeping him alive right now? He could have a partial armor lock and it is the only thing that is keep all that blood on the inside!” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay but if we don’t remove his armor, then Sarge is just going to find a dead blue on the floor,”<br/>
<br/>
“Well isn’t that a good thing? That’s the point of the war right? To kill the dirty blues,” Simmons rolls his eyes,”Seriously Grif have you not been paying attention?”<br/>
<br/>
“I have been listening Simmons, but like. Okay look, they’re not from the blue team. They’re from PFL, it’s probably a separate military project or something. If we let him die then we’re going to be held responsible for his death you know? And you don’t want to get on the bad side of command,” Grif is spit balling here. He’s barely listening to what he’s saying himself, he keeps his eyes on the person on the floor, making sure they’re still breathing. </p><p> </p><p>“God damn it. Fine. Only because filing a dead person report is a pain in the ass when you don’t know who you’re filing for it,” Simmons places his helmet carefully on the table and starts to help Grif with the armor removal. Grif lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and glances at the face of the soldier. </p><p> </p><p>The process was painstakingly slow, even slower when either of the red soldiers heard the aqua one let a painful whine out. They decided to work on the parts that would probably cause the least blood damage. The arm braces, gloves, shoulder pads, and shin guards came off first. There was only a small panicking moment when blood started flowing. When they’ve removed most of the armor, the males start arguing who’s going to remove the chest plate. Simmons didn’t want to remove the chest plate and Grif didn’t want to do it either. </p><p> </p><p>They end up playing rock paper scissors, or row sham bow as they’ve decided to call it now. Row sham bow is just better sounding than rock paper scissors. Grif wins and he just has to shove the bloody and dented armor somewhere that the red leader wouldn’t find it. He shoves it into the closet and grabs some extra towels that they had laying at the very top. Simmons releases the triggers on the chest piece and is <em> very concerned </em> by the amount that is now pouring out of this guy’s back. Grif tosses him the towels and Simmons starts to apply pressure to them. </p><p> </p><p>Grif watches Michigan twitch and a hiss of air pushing through his mouth. Simmons doesn’t stop and carefully rolls him onto his stomach,”This should help him? Like if he needs to puke or something he will not choke on it,” Simmons takes a closer look at the rest of Michigan’s back,”Oh holy fuck. It looks like he got into a knife fight with someone. And he’s going to have to do redo his hair though,”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that what you’re concerned about? His hair? Not that fact he’s bleeding out?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay well if you’re so worried about him bleeding out why don’t you call Sarge?”</p><p> </p><p>Grif opens his mouth to respond with something on the lines of sarge shooting him dead. But speak of the devil and he shall appear. Sarge walks into the area and pauses in his whistling to take in the scene before him.</p><p> </p><p>First, Grif was standing in front of him with full power armor. As he should be since they’re in a war of course. Grif’s hand was over the handle of his gun in a practiced habit. Sarge then noticed the soldier on the ground. Lots of blood around the body and the Kevlar suit was torn and ripped. The stranger seemed to have a medium build with black skin. His hair looked like a crumpled bird’s nest and then some. No armor, which was very odd. The weapons were on the table next to a maroon helmet. Seems the boys were smart and disarmed the soldier while bring him into red base.</p><p> </p><p>Sarge doesn’t bother with checking over Simmons as he went to examine the soldier on the floor. Immediate medical attention required and moving of them is required. The floor wasn’t the most sanitary place to patch a person up on. “Simmons! Get his arms, we’re going to move him into the vacant room we have. Grif, grab the medical supplies under the sink in the bathroom. And extra gauze. On the double now!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm very happy how this chapter turned out? I hope you guys also enjoyed this as well. Finished it last night cause I couldn't sleep lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. But He is Right There???</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simmons never gets a break from bullshit</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Simmons picks the bucket up, arms stretched far away from his body, and navigates creatively through the base. He walks outside to empty out the contents away from the base. It’s one thing for him to handle his own puke, he knows what’s in his half digested, stomach acid soaked puke. But he has no clue what was going on with this guy’s stomach. There were some traces of blood which freaked him out. For good reason as well! This guy had a fractured leg, a sprained wrist, and several gunshots to the back. If it weren’t for the power armor, they  would have killed him on the spot. Lots of bruising he might have sustained from the fall. Simmons still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of this guy not seeing the giant canyon along with standing close enough to fall down into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankful for the power armor, he has no idea how many times he’s thanked science for it at this point, he heads back inside. Going to the room Sarge has designated as the ‘Recovery Room’. He finds it so irresponsible of Sarge to make their medbay into his own personal workshop but he wasn’t going to call his superior officer out on it. Simmons peaks in slightly just to make sure he’s not interrupting something important. Sarge seems to be fixing the last bit of bandage around Michigan’s chest so Simmons gives a light knock before entering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sarge nods in Simmons' direction,”Good timing boy. I need to grab our ice packs to help cool the male off. Make sure he doesn’t choke to death on his own stomach contents,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just before Simmons could protest, Sarge walks out of the room. Leaving him alone, in a small room, surrounded by blood, and an unconscious Michigan in bed. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he wanted to do today. Sitting in a room with a soldier who Sarge would have killed if he even saw a hint of blue on. Yep, definitely wanted to do this today. Simmons checks his gun nervously and pulls out a chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons does a quick look over the room and looks for the best place to put it. He needs to put it out of arm range of the person, but also close enough where he can push them down so they don’t injure themselves anymore. It was a small room so there wasn’t much movement involved needing to go from one corner to the other. Simmons opts for placing the chair to Michigan’s left and at the end of the bed. Statistically speaking, only 15% of people were left handed on Earth. At least that was what he last read when doing his research. There is a possibility that this guy was left handed like Simmons, but he’ll need to be exerting  a lot of effort to try and take Simmons’ gun while the guy who has the gun was in power armor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What’s an injured soldier to a healthy, semi athletic soldier in full power armor. Who has a gun. A fully loaded gun. Simmons wasn’t planning on shooting Michigan or anything but it’s just a safety precaution. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons sat there for a bit before he realized how creepy this was. He was inspecting this guy like he was a dead body or something. While there wasn’t much to look at, as most of his toro was covered in bandages and wrap. Simmons was still here while Sarge was doing his thing. So instead of inspecting Michigan for the uptenth time like a creep, Simmons gets on his datapad and starts reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Daily Galaxy </span>
  </em>
  <span>newspaper. You would honestly think they would get better names by name but they didn’t, they’re as crappy as they were in the 21st century. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course he checks several different sites to get all viewpoints for interesting story threads, either to fact check or get more information on the topic. But it was just the first site that he had pulled up and it had good, general briefings for stories. He scrolls through the home page trying to find something that catches his attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Aftermath of War.. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alien Technology may be able to save Earth’s Environment</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Military Leaders May Have an Ace Up There Sleeves… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>New Military Schools Opening Up for The Youth</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have we gone too far with AI Technology?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of the articles seemed particularly interesting. It wasn’t uncommon to read about technological advancements being made out to be too much or far fetched. Or the conspiracy theory that the war was still going on. The far more interesting topic of debate was: Where and how did the military functional alien tech? He’s read on some subreddits, there’s theories about how there are classified military projects involving super soldiers and AIs that are trying to save humankind with the power of alien tech. One going public for publicity sake: Spartan Operations. While it’s highly likely the government probably has other plans, the evidence of colorful super soldiers doesn’t seem to fit the serious tone of the governments all around the universe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Simmons being bored and enjoying new information, starts reading each article one by one. Slowly phasing out his responsibility of watching the sleeping soldier just a tiny bit, enough for him to get into reading. HIs thoughts spread as he finished an article, which led to another article which led to several articles to where he would say he’s well informed on the topic. If he was going to know something, might as well have a good grasp on it. Also, evidence to win future arguments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time basically moves on without Simmons noticing as he’s in a world all of his own. One that revolved around facts, evidence, and a dash of conspiracy theories of the internet. This bubble of time would then be interrupted by an orange armored male named Dexter Grif. Unfortunately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey kiss ass, what are you doing here? Trying to figure out if the guy is a shapeshifter or not?” Grif says in a bored tone. Grif actually came here to hide from Sarge but if he can get Simmons to cover him, he might not even need to put the extra effort in hiding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons sputters and flips his tablet face down on the bed to his right, hissing quietly,”Grif- Wh- Do not scare me like that! I could have shot you! What the hell are you doing in here? I was told by Sarge to stay in here and make sure the guy does not try escaping,” Or something on the lines of that, Simmons glances up at Michigan and notices the new ice packs that were surrounding his body. When did those get there?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he would have totally shot Grif where he was standing, if his back wasn’t turned to the door. But if he had turned just a bit Simmons could have done it. His aim isn't as terrible as that Church guy in blue base. He glances down at his tablet that should have a new article pulled up. Something about AIs and schools, an interesting topic that Simmons will return to once he has Grif out of his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well you see Simmons, I was thinking-,” Grif starts out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This gets an immediate response,”Wow don’t think too hard, don’t want to fry the last few brain cells in your head,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice joke asshate. Listen, I was thinking how it would be terrible if you died because you weren’t watching yourself in the same room as a stranger. So out of the good of my heart-,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sarge wanted you to patrol and you’re here trying to get yourself out of it by trying to make me the excuse. Aren’t you?” Simmons says flatly as he puts an arm on the back of his chair and turning to look at Grif. He’s not dumb and Grif knows Simmons isn’t dumb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You’re catching on quick, already figuring out how the system works,” Grif says just as flat and sits to Simmons left, back against the wall, “So I’m just going to nap here and if Sarge asks what I’m doing. Just say I’m on watch with you,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons rolls his eyes at tht,”And what’s stopping me from ratting you out to Sarge when he comes by to ultimately hull your fatass out here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t tell Sarge about you drinking his last Strawberry Yoo-hoo?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That wasn’t even me! That was you! In the middle of the god damn night,” Simmons shoots back a bit louder, to get the point across that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>putting up with that obvious bullshit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t prove it,” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I heard you,” </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Mhmm, sure you did Simmons,” Grif crosses his arms and relaxes in his spot. Just in time for Sarge to open the door. Simmons stands up from his chair and gives a quick salute. Grif doesn’t move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sarge does a quick salute to let Simmons drop his arm,”At ease soldier. I’m looking for Grif, he needs to do a few laps around for patrol,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir he’s right there,” Simmons motioned to Grif without looking. If Sarge just looked past the door, he would most certainly see the unmoving orange soldier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Simmons there’s a door right there,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sarge just open the door more, he’s right here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well since he’s not here… I’ll have Lopez drive around to scout out the dirty blues. Hopefully that robot doesn’t go crashing out only more of transportation,” Sarge says with a heavy tone before turning and walking out the door. Simmons just stares at the door in bewilderment and just rubs his eyes. Is he going insane or something?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Another successful attempt at getting rid of my responsibilities,” Grif remarks, pleased with the results. Simmons' attention turns back to the orange soldier, a scowl on his face,”What? I didn’t do anything,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the problem! How did he not see you?!” Simmons’ voice cracks and screeches. Sarge couldn’t possibly be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>blind if he has a good accuracy on his sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif simply shrugs,”no clue nerd, no clue,” He did have a clue actually, but that’s not important to present day. What is important though? The blue soldier stirring from his sleep. Grif only noticed as there was a sharp halt on movement it went back to normal. Simmons probably didn’t notice since he’s listing all the ‘wrong’ action’s Grif took today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was till a hoarse voice said,”Can I get peace and quiet? Or water?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Midnight Snacks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Grif and Michigan have a little midnight snack and chat.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Michigan was pretty sure it was the middle of the night but he was hungry and only drank water before passing out earlier that day. He could only vaguely remember waking up to hear someone talking and it made a rather bad buzzing in his head. He didn’t open his eyes because it seemed like it would have taken too much effort. But what he’s doing right now, is also too much effort. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Michigan was slow to orientate himself in a sitting position, dizziness making stars in his vision. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In and out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He heard the crickets outside as the room had a small window but only little light illuminated the room. Only giving him enough vision to see where the door was and that this was a very empty room. His body was aching badly but he did notice that he was patched up considerably well. Whoever was the medical officer of this base knew what they were doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pushing himself up, Michigan stood up with his arms suddenly out to catch himself from face planting into the floor. He was able to stumble over to a wall and lean his head against it to stop the urge to dry heave. Oh, he vaguely remembers throwing up which would make sense why his throat was burning and dry when he woke up. Or that was dehydration, whichever one works. Trying again, he makes slow progress towards the door and wincing as he breathes too hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was easy enough to know that the kitchen area would be in an open area of the base. Michigan was careful when shuffling down the hallway to not make much noise. Easy enough since it’s just concrete flooring and he’s going barefoot. Seeing the counter separating the kitchen and what he can only assume is the living room area, Michigan starts to look for MRE’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he finds what he was looking for at the back behind all the canned foods that they have. He pulls two packs out and doesn’t bother reading what each one was. He opens one pack up and quietly shuffles stuff around on the countertop. Putting the main course, maybe chicken stew, into the clearish bag and adding water into it. Michigan folds the top and waits for that to cook while he eats some crackers. He could make coffee to go with this but he rather not wake people up at whatever time of night it is here. All he had to do was wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand trails to the dog tag that weighed heavy on his chest. One of the only things that he would die to get back. As he stood in the kitchen, Michigan could hear the sound of a small child’s laughter, faint but present. He knew it wasn’t real because that child has been gone for a long time… A </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s fault was that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed softly and looked around the area to see if he'd get lucky to find his armor. Maybe they just stored it against a wall out of the way. But with low light that was coming into the almost windowless base and him not knowing where the light switch was, he opted to just stay in place to eat a meal. Stumbling around in the dark like a weirdo is not on his priority list of the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within the next few moments, Michigan was eating his well deserved MRE. He was correct, it was chicken stew. MREs aren’t the best things ever but it’s good enough for stew in a package with salt and pepper. There were other things in the brown packaging like candy, crackers, and orange flavoring. He gives an involuntary grimace at the thought of tasting artificial orange juice powder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leans against the counter and savors the half-assed taste of chicken stew in his mouth. Michigan never thought he would actually be glad about the taste of this pack until now. He puts the chicken tray down so he can eat the candy. He needs sugar in his system right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then a click and blinding </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> light hit his senses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michigan covers his face with one bandaged arm and swings his other hand out. His body just burns with the sudden movements and the sudden adrenaline spike hits him hard, “I can and will kill you if you get any closer to me,” He meant to sound threatening. Like a growl or snarl or anything to get the danger away. But he sounded incompetent with his voice crack and dry throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif lets out a startled noise as the lights in the kitchen reveal an injured soldier surrounded by MRE items. Suppressing the urge to snicker when he noticed Michigan’s weapon of choice, he cleared his throat hard. A plastic knife. Out of everything he has been threatened with, a plastic knife was the most non-lethal thing on the list, “Sorry dude, I just wanted my second-midnight snack,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michigan squints as his eyes adjust to the bright lights of the kitchen. The person standing a few feet away was wearing UNSC issued sweatpants and t-shirt… only it was dyed orange. Short cut hair that was definitely not in regulation, tanned skin, and possible black tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt… only it was dyed orange. Short cut hair that was definitely not in regulation, tanned skin, and some scars crisscrossing his body, bullet scars? The blue soldier just stands stunned for a moment, a sudden wave of emotion hits him and his face blanks. He really doesn’t want to give any information away,” Wasn’t your curfew several hours ago?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif lets a short laugh occur before casually walks to where he stashed some Oreos away. Even with his casual behavior, Grif was ready to jump away at a moment's notice. But considering the speed of which Michigan reacted to a light switch being flickered, the orange soldier stood out of arms' reach and a bit more,” Regulation and rules aren’t exactly things in this area,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A frown settles on Michigan’s face before he slowly gets out of a defensive stance and leans back on the counter with arms folded. Even when relaxing his tense muscles, the aching persisted so there was also a faint look of discomfort outlining his frown. The soldier’s statement confuses him but then he understands what he meant. This wasn’t a real military base, it’s a sim base. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif took his silence as his cue to continue talking. While he would usually take the "be quiet route to enjoy his Oreos"... he didn’t want to leave this weird tension in the air. Plus the guy is new, word tension is expected. Introductions should happen, right? That’s what usually happens when new people come to the base. Probably. They are in an isolated canyon after all, “I’m Private Grif, a soldier of this shit show labeled red army,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michigan replies reluctantly and picks his chicken stew back up, “Michigan. Should I assume you rescued me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif hums as he munches on his crunchy treat, “Uh, rescue is a very strong word. More of disarming you and leaving you on the floor of the base for several minutes trying to figure out what to do with a dead body. But yeah, we say rescue to save time,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The injured soldier huffed a laugh and finished his chicken stew before moving onto the other MRE he left for heating, “That’s one way of looking at what you did. But uh, thanks. I’m pretty sure if I wouldn’t have survived if you stepped in,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh, don’t think I care or anything. I’m just not a fan of paperwork so having our Sargent rescue you from death’s porch step seemed appropriate,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michigan didn’t have a response to that, he must look like shit standing in the kitchen so casually, “So if you don’t mind me asking… Where is my armor? Cause I kinda need that back,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… We may have banged it up a bit more and tossed it into a hallway closet,” Once finishing the oreos in hand Grif goes into a nearby cabinet for a bag of chips. The response earns a look of disapproval from Michigan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They really are sim troopers. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah… Any chance you guys r-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hold up,” Grif holds a hand up to illustrate his point more, “I don’t know who you think I am or what the red team does but before you ask any more questions. One, protocol isn’t something we do here. Two, I don’t do anything. Then three, we were pretty sure you were dead so we didn’t bother checking your equipment,” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, whatever dude but that doesn’t mean you should be straying from armor maintenance and organization,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize armor maintenance needed blood, sun, and bullet holes,” Grif shoots back and snickers when Michigan shoots him a foul look, “Am I wrong? It looks like it hasn’t had a good clean in a while,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright conversation over,” Michigan cleans up the wrappers and plastic made by the MRE he opened up. He’s not going to be a slob and make a mess of the kitchen that seemed pretty clean before he entered, “I’m going to go back to my room unless you’re here to kill me?” He pauses in walking to look at the soldier eating chips, who simply shrugs and gestures at his body. No weapons the agent can spot immediately so Michigan turns on his heel and walks slowly back to his quarters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif scowls at the agent retreat and rolls his eyes. Dramatic asshole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Day two of being stuck in the canyon, or at least he thinks it’s day two. Michigan did go back to his quarters as he told Grif, but he didn’t go back to sleep. Just laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. There were a lot of whispers in his head that refused to be silent and he just had to deal with them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lots of that whispering was incoherent, like background noise you can’t quite make out but you know it’s there. Since the incident, he’s gotten better at ignoring it. Or his brain is finally moving on. Either way, it’s bearable now unlike before. Before it was unbearable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bites the inside of his cheek as he gets a small burst of images, very sudden and nauseating images. They weren’t very coherent images, but they always made his chest tight and varying emotions swirl through his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the sun was coming back up and his hand found the familiar metal tag laying on his chest. Laying there was useless, pointless, and unproductive. Michigan sighs, once again tossing his legs off the bed. What to do, what to do…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Armor repair required. Communication with Command required. Weapons maintenance suggested. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what to do already,” he mutters. Armor repair was the number one priority, after all, this is still technically a war zone. Plus it was downright embarrassing showing up at command with ruined armor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As for communication... he can ask the red Sargent if he can borrow his helmet or a tablet. Unless their comms tower is down; that would be unfortunate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, weapons. As much as he wants to do that, he didn’t want to make the guys tense the entire time he stays here. So he’ll hold that off until the last minute.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And apparently, he’s putting everything on hold for a bit because Michigan couldn’t bring himself to move. His limbs were heavy and his eyelids only fluttered when he attempted to open them. The aqua soldier couldn’t even remember closing his eyes in the first place. He twitched his fingers and slowly made his way up to his arm, just to make sure nothing was wrong with the nerves. When doing the same with the rest of his body he chalks it up to exhaustion. Figures his body would finally decide it wouldn’t cooperate, that took longer than he expected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t survive the project because he let his body rest when needed. Probably the exact opposite if he really thinks about it. By sheer will and the need to do something, Michigan rolls out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif woke up early that day. Which is very unusual and absolutely unacceptable. Like completely unacceptable. He wraps the blanket around him tighter and tries to go back to sleep but there was an undeniable scent that was keeping him from going back to the black void of napping. With a heavy heart, he tosses the blanket off and flops onto his back trying to place the smell. It has a mouth-watering aroma to it, that’s for sure. A hint of sweetness, breadlike smell. Then if listened closely, he could hear the faint sizzling of something cooking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get him out of bed? Because it’s working. Grif was awake now and was able to place the smell of what’s cooking in the kitchen. Pancakes. Which </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t be real???</span>
  </em>
  <span> He must be dreaming still because the last time he had good food was way before the military. So he doesn’t sit up and get ready to go out, instead he lays in bed waiting for the smell to go away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When hearing the loud knocking on his door, Grif still doesn’t get up. It’s as if Sarge didn’t remove the locks on the door or something. The knocking goes away momentarily before it comes back accompanied by a voice, “Grif! You fucking lazyass, get up there’s breakfast on the table,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No fucking way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons was standing outside with his legs slightly crossed so he could tap the front of his boot on the floor. He’s been awake for about an hour now and half of that time was spent making the pancakes. He was just going to eat the usual breakfast, toast with coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it was to his absolute delight to find a bowl full of pancake batter in the fridge. They put everything that can spoil into the fridge and everything else was stored neatly away in cabinets and drawers. While the bowl did misplace a few items, Simmons believed that was the price of having a surprise in the fridge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were only two possible people who could have made this pancake, Simmons thought as he waited for Grif to open his door. It was either Sarge or Lopez. He has no clue why Lopez would make it. Not only is he mute but he seems like a maintenance robot, not a household robot. Also he’s military-grade so why would Lopez know how to cook pancakes? Or at least make the batter portion of the pancake process. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It certainly wasn’t Grif. The lazy ass would stay in bed until 12 if he was allowed to. If he got out before 12 willingly, the redhead was sure that the orange soldier was sick or on drugs. He refuses to believe that the messy, lazy, and selfish soldier did something nice for the other two red soldiers on base. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sarge could have possibly made it, Simmons wasn’t sure why he would have made it but it was really the only logical person who could have made it. He did hear talking and shuffling last night before he went to bed. But he assumed it was Grif or Sarge getting their late-night snack before going to sleep. Sarge just has the habit of staying up late, working on his own projects and trinkets. Grif was motivated by food and will only move without being told if food or any consumable food was in the question. So the conclusion made, Sarge made it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons glances at his watch showing his timer going past the one minute and forty-second mark. He’s about to turn and leave so he can flip the pancake on time when a disheveled Grif appears. Simmons gives an apprehensive look just as he was about to tell him to go eat. But when Grif lifts a hand to tell him to wait a moment, Simmons decides to wait because he was in a slightly better mood than usual. There are pancakes, why wouldn’t Simmons be happy about it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grif stretches his arms out, popping his elbow and back before leaning against the door frame and giving Simmons a bored expression, “Okay let’s skip the formalities. Is what I am smelling pancakes. And I do not want to hear how you acquired said pancakes. Just nod or shake your head to answer my question,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes Grif, they’re mysterious pancakes and there is already a plate out f-” Simmons side steps Grif as the former dashes to the kitchen. That was the fastest he has ever seen Grif move. Like ever. They’ve only been stationed here for a few weeks but in those few weeks, Simmons has not once seen Grif move fast. Fast and Grif should not ever be in the same sentence, yet here they were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch the one on the stove tha-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dude! Holy shit! These are fucking amazing!!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons sighs and checks his watch and makes hasty strides back into the kitchen. Grif was sitting at the table already shoveling pancakes into his mouth. Something Simmons was pleasantly surprised by was the very specific instructions told him how long he should make the pancakes and what it should look like. They looked like they came from a commercial, a nice golden brown with only some hints of darker patches of brown on the top. It had very crisp edges that added a nice crunch to the bites of the pancakes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons takes the cover, a bowl, of the top of the pan to reveal a pancake that finished being made. A bit of butter was burning and bubbling on the surface of the pan. God it smelt good, it was hot sure but it was absolutely delicious and worth the added heat in the canyon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something Simmons didn’t realize was that rebuttering or forgetting to better would make a rather large difference between the crispness of the edges. Putting the newly formed pancakes on a plate for Sarge his attention tunes back to Grif, “Hey you should give Michigan pancakes, or you know, give me his pancakes,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha ha asshole we both know you would eat the pancakes the second you were given the chance to eat out,” Simmons adds batter after adding butter to the pan to make a third breakfast delight for Sarge. Maybe he’ll get recognition for making the team’s breakfast today. Or at least cooked it. Or Sarge would be furious with him doing it because maybe he wanted to make breakfast for some caught and convoluted reasoning. Oh, no was he going to get scolded for doing something he wasn’t told to do. Just before Simmons slipped into his anxiety ridden thoughts, Grif snapped loudly in his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The orange soldier watched in amusement as Simmons jolts in his spot. Grif takes the makeshift cover off to flip the pancake so it doesn’t get burned and puts the cover back on, “You should give the guy his breakfast. He’s probably starving,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simmons raises an eyebrow at that, “You sharing food? What’s that about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well for one, I’m more of a waffle guy myself,” He raises his hand slightly to keep Simmons from interrupting him, “And two; he was ninja-ing around the kitchen at the dead of night only to eat the MREs he found in the cabinets,” Grif didn’t particularly care if Michigan was starving or not. He definitely did not care if the guy died. It just seemed… off not to offer the guy pancakes if they have enough batter to go around the table twice with three pieces every round. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you Grif. Also- Waffles? You like waffles better??” Simmons slides the pancakes into a new plate before grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and watching Grif’s away as it reaches for the fresh pancake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stare at each other momentarily before Grif stands down,”I will argue after you feed the prisoner,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s more of a guest than a p-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Simmons,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Going, going…” Simmons grumbles and walls off with the plate in one hand and a water bottle in the other. He gives Grif one last mean look before heading into Michigan’s room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t waltz right in, he wasn’t that stupid. He tried to open the door as quiet as pickles and surveyed the room for any noticeable changes or weapons that couldn’t be on display. There’s the obviously dented and blood-covered armor, stacked against the wall. That was not there the last time he visited the room of the unconscious blue soldier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he sees the stack that had two empty packages of MREs on the bedside. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night to get those. Simmons walks in fully to get the trash of plastics and wrappers and places down the plate of pancakes and water bottle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huh, maybe it wasn’t Sarge after all.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yo new update and it hasn't been a month yet. Nice. I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Church Gets to Experience a Kabedon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Church and Michigan get a little bit gay on main, guns are aimed, and someone finally gets to leave the boxed canyon.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you think they’re doing?” Church says as he watches Red Base from the top of the cliff. He would complain about the heat but it’s decent inside his armor since his temp controls were working. He’s been in Blood Gulch for 2 and a half weeks now and let him tell you, it’s been the most boring 2 and a half weeks of his life. Whenever spotting the maroon and orange on top of the base, he could only assume they were talking as their heads bobbed up and down. They could talk for hours and hours, seemingly never running out of stuff to discuss. </p><p> </p><p>The only thing he actually could complain about is the fact that Church’s partner never seems to talk. He lifts his head from the scope of the sniper rifle and turns to the grey armored soldier behind him. Church continues thinking about what a miserable existence he has as he notices the stance his ‘partner’ has taken. </p><p> </p><p>Leaning against the wall, ‘Private’ Washington stood under the little shade that existed on the cliffside they stationed themselves on. His arms were crossed and a leg propped against the rocky surface. He didn’t talk much, he didn’t need nor want to. He had more pressing issues to think about. Probably not life-threatening, but the thoughts <em> felt </em> more life-threatening than the simtroopers who were stationed on the other side of the canyon. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey ass, do you want to, I don’t know, do your job also?” Church questioned as he put a hand on his hip and stared at Washington. Not like it did much in the intimidation department as Church was pretty short compared to him and had the feeling this guy can and will kick his ass if he pushes it. </p><p> </p><p>Washington tilts his head to say, "Right and what am I supposed to do from this distance without a sniper rifle? Stare intensely in their direction when I could easily be doing that from over here?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know man. Just stop brooding in the corner, I feel like you’re going to attempt shoving me off the cliff,” Church grumbles before turning back to the reds on top of the base. With his attention focused on the guys on the roof. He fails to notice the soldier out of armor walk out of the front of base off to the side. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em>Captain</em>, is there anything happening on that end of the canyon?” Washington shoots and strides over with his arms crossed over his chest still. He honestly should just head back to the best and leave Church to do his thing. This was just a simulation battle after all. One that was meant to be in a stalemate until things in the MoI are under control. </p><p> </p><p>Church doesn’t reply as he continues watching aimlessly around the base. In the few weeks that they’ve been there, it really wasn’t all too interesting to watch. He could feel Washington sit on the edge of the base and looking over Washington wasn’t even looking at the base. Just staring at the ring that surrounded the planet. Unless he was looking at the sun. Then he’s just wishing for blindness. </p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“Alright asshole. Go back to base. It’s pointless if we’re both sitting around and doing nothing,” Church eventually says as time passes. Church was dozing off and at some point laid down after getting tired of using his thighs. Even Washington has chosen that laying on the ground was a viable option. </p><p> </p><p>Washington grunts and gets off the floor, almost pushing himself off the cliff as he forgets he wasn’t on the base where he could easily jump off and walk away unscathed. But he might have a bit of a harder time straight up cliff jumping. Not the highest he’s been, not even close. But still, gravity was a bitch. “Actually do your job. Don’t just fall asleep,” Washington said half-heartedly as a yawn tried to climb it’s way up to his throat. The back of his neck aches and he could feel the unpleasantness of the next few hours of sleep. He’s not even out of his armor. </p><p> </p><p>“Sure whatever asshole, don’t fall asleep walking down. I’m not dragging your fatass to base,” Church still wasn’t doing his job, he was planning on taking a nap in silence. The company was nice but from what he’s witnessed in the past several weeks, Washington did not sleep unless necessary. It would be weird if the guy watched Church to see if he was actually doing anything or just laying on the ground. </p><p> </p><p>Washington doesn’t bother with a response and heads down the cliffside, he felt a dull annoyance towards Church as he told him not to fall flat on his face. He’s sure if he did, it would make the asshole’s day. But what was annoying him more was that the actual leader of the blue team, Captain <em> Flowers </em>, died of an aspirin overdose. So not only did he have to call for a replacement trooper but he also was stuck babysitting a canyon full of idiots by himself until another freelancer came over. </p><p> </p><p>Now that Church was alone, he could nap in peace. He didn’t even bother looking through his scope since he could see a red stick and orange stick standing next to each other on the top of the base. He didn’t quite fall asleep yet, while he could sleep in lots of places, he didn’t sleep on command like other people. It took some time and if he didn’t get it right he could be wasting an hour of sleep trying <em> to </em>sleep.</p><p> </p><p>With Church’s negligence, someone new enters the scene. In the time that the blues were dozing off, Agent Michigan was trying to negotiate a deal with a silent robot named Lopez. Which was easier than he thought it would be, rather it was harder to complete the tasks. For one, Lopez put little to no effort into communication. Just a blank look before returning to his work. In all fairness, Michigan didn’t actually make a ‘deal’, just stood around with the robot outside for a little while. Helping with what he could, whether it was repairing something Sarge destroyed in an effort to defeat the blues or re-reorganizing something done by Sarge in an effort to confuse the blues in their tactics. </p><p> </p><p>Michigan needed access to the armory, not to steal any armor of course. Grif was too large of a build for him and shorter than him, Simmons was lankier than him, and Sarge… Sarge was Sarge and rather not be shot in the face by his shotgun. No, he just needed a weapon to approach the blue team. The thought caused headaches to occur on top of the concussion he got from falling into this box canyon. </p><p> </p><p>Even with the necessary tools to fix his broken helmet radio, it would just be easier to find people who weren’t treating him between a prisoner and a guest. From his time there, he’s found that if he so much as mentioned the blues around Sarge it’ll be a disaster. He could make the call himself but he has no clue if South was watching the radio transmissions or if she was trailing him still. Highly unlikely but the South was never one to get into direct conflict… Just making it possible for it to happen. </p><p> </p><p>“All I need is for a blue team member to call Command for a pickup,” He says to Lopez as he makes direct eye contact with the robot. Or where he thinks his eyes are. Talking to the mute robot is, again, harder than he expected. Lopez had a blank stare before directing him to the other part of the garage that was still a mess despite them fixing the boxes and tools for some time now. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until they were done setting the garage area straight did Michigan realize that the past few hours were worth something. He hears metallic knocking on the shelf near the door as he turns, then a hand goes up instinctively as an unknown object goes flying into his face. Michigan opens his hand to see a key and a keycard in it. The freelancer shoots Lopez a small grin and gives a small nod in appreciation before passing the robot to the armory. </p><p> </p><p>For a simulation post, Michigan notes how these small two ‘armies’ were compared to other simulation posts. Usually, it was a full out war between the two sides, from what he’s seen previously. There were <em> some </em>competent soldiers at the base but there were clear victories at the end of the day. But being here for almost a week now, the two sides seemed rather incompetent at going at one another. </p><p> </p><p>He has yet to see the blue soldiers since he was stuck inside for the majority of the week but there were a few times Sarge tried leading an attack only to come back a good 2 hours later. Michigan never asked how it went but seeing as the orange and red complained about the battle for a good half hour only to start bickering about some old cartoon for a much longer period. He assumes it wasn’t that devastating of a loss. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hey jackass, someone is coming down.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That gets Michigan’s attention and he stops his march across the canyon to hide behind the boulders near the cliff. He keeps the M6D magnum in his left hand while his right went to the knife that he strapped last minute onto his side. He has to narrow his eyes in the sunlight as the glare of the sun reflected viciously off the blue armor. From how far he was watching the two, it looked like the soldiers on the cliff had the same colored armor. But now it was much closer, he noticed the yellow trims on the armor. Michigan couldn’t quite figure out if that signified something but it didn’t matter. </p><p> </p><p>The soldier walked off with their arms stretched up above their head, oblivious to Michigan’s presence. Once he was sure they were far enough, Michigan quietly hiked up the cliff. Obviously in the shaded parts since it was damn hot. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You could push the guy off the cliff if he doesn’t cooperate. Death by clumsiness.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Michigan shakes his head as the voice talks. No. He wasn’t there. He hasn’t been there for a <em> long </em>time. He’d love it if the imprint would shut up so he could work. He stands a bit away from the sniper for a moment. Seeing what their next action would be but when they didn’t move from their spot at the ledge, Michigan makes a loud ‘ahem’. </p><p> </p><p>When he asked the reds about the blue team soldiers, they just gave rather generic responses. They’re stupid, only one knows how to fight, they haven’t seen the captain in a while, they’re dastardly and need to be killed</p><p> </p><p>Michigan raises an eyebrow while putting his gun away. Taking a few steps forward, he puts a hand out,”You can call me Michigan,” His tone was pleasant enough, even though his face didn’t show much of a smile,”You are?” <br/><br/>Church’s body language told Michigan that he was very hesitant to take the offered hand. Which, considering the circumstances of his sudden appearance, it was a good idea. It takes a good handful of seconds before he takes the hand and stands up,”Church, Blue team,” </p><p> </p><p>That was easy enough, the push was almost muscle memory and the automatic grab of the chest piece was just autopilot. He remembers this happening to him a few times during his earlier training in the program. Floating platforms in the main training hall. Many bruised arms and concussions came out of that month. Also screaming. There was a lot of screaming when one of the higher-ups tipped someone over the edge and held them in place. </p><p> </p><p>“Well then Church. I need to request a fa-” <br/><br/>“DUDE HOLY FUCK IM ABOUT TO FALL WHAT THE FUCK!” </p><p> </p><p>Michigan only grimaces as the screeching voice reaches his ears. Even with the helmet filter on the soldier’s, the voice is still unmistakably high. It was a good thing that he had some muscle to him, as well as height over the smaller guy. This situation would have turned out very differently if it weren’t for these small differences. He tries again after a minute of Church’s screaming. </p><p> </p><p>“I could just drop you,” He offers unhelpfully as Church shoots out another string of curses, “I need you to ca-”</p><p> </p><p>“And why the fuck would I listen to you man? You’re about to drop ME off of a FUCKING cliff!” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He has a point.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Epsilon. Not now. </p><p> </p><p>“Well if you listened to me, you won’t have to worry about that minor detail,” Michigan said a bit strained, he doesn’t have time for this. He’s been stuck in a box-shaped canyon for several days now, with zero contact with Command. South is probably back at HQ already and she probably already reported his death to the Director. Their only real way of verifying his death is his armor which was in complete ruins because of that purple freelancer. </p><p> </p><p>As his thoughts spiraled a bit further, his grip tightened on Church’s chest piece and his face grew dark. Despite the armor that Church wore, he didn’t feel all too safe with the psycho in front of him. He could try pulling the guy with him but he knows his reflexes aren’t fast enough to drop the sniper rifle in his hands and grab the guy’s wrist. Though, an idea does strike him.</p><p> </p><p>“How about this? No. I’m not going to listen to you. You need <em> me. </em>So if you drop me, I’ll probably survive with a. Few bumps and bruises. You though? You would be out of options,” Church said smugly. He didn’t often get to use the brain cells in his head, but he’s su-</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, it goes as well as he expected. With a sharp tug forward and a too smooth sidestep, Church stumbles backwards into the canyon wall. He bumps his head hard but pays no attention to it as he raises his rifle at Michigan. This was what he planned, get him annoyed that he’ll throw him. With how close he was standing to him, Church couldn’t possibly miss. </p><p> </p><p>But then he does. The gun goes off with a loud bang and Michigan stood there like a statue. They both seem to be holding their breaths until Michigan raises a hand to his ear. Only a faint ringing with how close the gun went off and how close the bullet came to his face. A death glare forming on his face as he strides forward. There wasn’t enough time for Church to try again as the barrel of the gun was shoved to the side and hand going for his helmet. He lets out a short string of curses as it’s yanked off his head and Michigan towers over him rather menacingly. </p><p> </p><p>Michigan discards the helmet half-hazardously and puts the magnum up to Church’s throat to keep him quiet. Then puts a hand next to his head as if the gun wouldn’t keep him in place already,”Listen very carefully. I don’t <em> need </em>you. You were just the quickest option. That being said,” he switches the safety off on the gun and stares church in the eyes,”I can go to blue base and fight whoever is in that base to cooperate with me and leave your body for the vultures,” </p><p> </p><p>Despite the predicament, Church wanted to say something snarky. Be it about Washington kick Michigan’s ass into the fourth dimension or that this was a classic flirting pose. Michigan senses some idiotic statement about to slip out of the shorter male’s mouth so he puts just a tiny bit more pressure on the barrel before saying with a leveled tone,”Your. Choice,”</p><p> </p><p>He stares into Michigan’s face, refusing to look away even with the threat looming over his throat. When it feels like an eternity passed, Church looks away, tsking and glaring off to the side,”Fine! You win. What the fuck do you need?” his voice showing a clear disdain for the person he talked to. He hated to admit defeat to a piece of shit like Michigan. He probably had a smug smile on his face, knowing he had won a fight that he couldn’t have possibly lost unless every bone in his body was broken. However, when Church gives a small glance, he notices a small, silent sigh of relief leaving Michigan. </p><p> </p><p>Michigan takes a step back, keeping the gun in his hand but crosses his arm. A more casual appearance being taken as the tension of the situation seems to fade. “Good. I need you to call Command and say that Recovery is requesting a pick up from Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha,” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s it?” Church asks in disbelief,”You couldn’t have Red Team do this for you, why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sarge would probably assume I’m calling for blue team reinforcement and try to kill me on the spot. Simmons is too much of a kiss ass to not report me to Sarge. Then Grf would probably refuse to give me a working radio since he doesn’t like moving around base,” Michigan says deadpanned. They were currently his only allies in this canyon, even if it was a very shaky alliance. One that had little to no trust to its name. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay but what do I get out of this?” </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck do you mean ‘What do i get out of this?’ I’m letting you live,” He replies annoyed at the sudden suggestion that he deserves anything out of this interaction. </p><p> </p><p>“You want me to do something for you asshat? Make a trade. It’s only fair,” Church says as he snatches his helmet from the floor and glares at the special ops officer in front of him. He assumes he’s special ops because no one actually important ever visits the canyon. No one really comes here to begin with, unless it’s a supply drop. Even then it’s usually by air and the person only needs one person to confirm whether or not this was Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. </p><p> </p><p>Michigan had almost nothing to his name in person. The only real things worth value was his experience in the field and his talking skills. It takes him a moment to wrack something up before snapping his fingers and saying,”You can get a new recruit if you help me out with this. You only seem to have… Two members on the team? Including yourself,” </p><p> </p><p>The deal was simple enough and his patience has been gone since yesterday morning. So,  he dusts off the bits of dust and sand that clung onto his helmet and gives a grim nod,”Fine. I call Command and you get a pick up. Then we also get a recruit for what reason? How are you going to pull that one off?”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“Sam’s hell! This straggler has done more work in the past several hours than you boys have done all week!” Sarge whoops as he pounds the kitchen table. </p><p> </p><p>“Sir, permission to talk?” Grif says with mild annoyance with his arms crossed near the entrance of the kitchen. Simmons was nearby sputtering silently at the recognition that Sarge was handing out to Michigan. As if <em> he </em>was part of Red Team and was working his ass off to keep the base functional alongside Lopez. </p><p> </p><p>“Permission denied,” <br/><br/>“Permission to speak Sir?” The redhead squeaks and glares at Michigan. Who does he think he is? Having a bored expression on his face, then a similar stance as Grif but has the audacity to raise an eyebrow at him and wink with a small smirk on his face. He should have just shot him and had this whole ordeal over with. </p><p> </p><p>“Permission granted,” <br/><br/>“This is absolute bullshit,” Grif grunted. </p><p> </p><p>“How do we know he’s not just giving us bad information? The blues could have offered him something-” <br/><br/>“Alright let me stop you there nerd,” Michigan says as he pushes off the kitchen counter, “I have a debt to repay you so I wouldn’t even do that to begin with. But also staying in this canyon has been a <em> fucking </em>nightmare. I want out and I have unfinished business to take care of. All I was doing was reporting the fact that Blue Team is getting a new member or members. So, as a special operative. Even the numbers or get another recruit,” He’s dealt with one nuisance of a soldier, he’s not having another one jump on his back and try to mess his plans up. </p><p> </p><p>Sarge watches the interaction between Simmons and Michigan closely. The moment Michigan moved Simmons was already trying to make himself smaller, or maybe taller? It was a bit hard to tell as his shoulders locked up high and his face turned a shade of red. Then on the other hand Michigan looked as if he knew that he won this verbal match as he stopped directly in front of Simmons. He lets it draw out for a few moments before getting between the two,”Alright. Point made. And you sure this was the dark blue and not the dark blue one with yellow trims?”</p><p> </p><p>“Does it matter?” </p><p> </p><p>The red leader eyes Michigan up and down before ushering the boys away to a part of the kitchen Michigan wasn’t standing in, “Give us a moment to discuss,” </p><p> </p><p>The freelancer just blinks before squinting at them with the look that read ‘what the fuck?’ He doesn’t have to wait long as the whispering and the loud affirmation sounds would die out in under a minute. The three red soldiers all turned to him in unison, only the sergeant spoke though,”Alright. We’ll believe you this once however we have one condition,” </p><p> </p><p>“What do you <em> mean?! </em>I’m giving you this information as a fair exchange for saving my life,” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s exactly it. We want you to give this information for free. Meaning you still owe us a favor. And since you already handed us the information, you have only one choice to accept our deal,” </p><p> </p><p>Michigan was not impressed by the turn of events. The pissed mood he had while standing on that cliff was slowly dragging itself onto his back again but he rather not hurt the people who gave two shits and save him from death. Pinching the bridge of his nose he sighs out,”And what happens if I don’t accept the ToS?” </p><p> </p><p>The clicking of guns does draw his attention from the floor to the people in front of him. They weren’t in power armor but they did have their loaded weapons trained on him. He had the two guns he borrowed from the armory still but the shotgun barrels that were staring him down didn’t make him want to move too fast. “I say,” Sarge said while lazily waving his shotgun up and down,”We’ll have a mighty big problem in our hands,” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You might as well. It’s simtroopers. What’s the worst that can happen? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<b>Fine</b>, tell me when my ride is going to be here. I’m going to take a nap,” With a sharp left turn on his heel, Michigan left without being dismissed. </p><p> </p><p>While he left the scene, Sarge turned on his heel right to look at his subordinates,”So we’ll have to plan out where the newbie will be holed up once they get over here. Of course I ain’t moving my stuff since I’m the commanding officer,” Eyeing the two he continues,”Are they going to be joining your quarters?” <br/><br/>Simmons fidgets at the idea of having another person in that room. What if they were a slob like Grif. They’ve only been here for a good bit and the room is already a mess with just Grif existing in that room,”I-I mean- If w-” </p><p> </p><p>Grif completely shoulders bumps Simmons out of the way and has a bored look on his face,”Yeah. No. The newbie, rookie, whatever the fuck you want to call them. Can go into one of the other rooms. All we have to do is clear it or even, hey! Let them clear it out when they get here. See what type of person they are,” </p><p> </p><p>“That sounds like a terrible idea Grif! They just touched down and you suddenly want them to get to work?” <br/><br/>Simmons clears his throat and not so subtly shoves the orange soldier so he was front and center as well,”We could choose their room <em> now </em> and then clear it out later when it’s closer to the drop down date. You should- Could! Could call Command to see when the soonest drop off time would be,” </p><p> </p><p>Sarge hums as he contemplates Simmons' words before nodding,”Alright, I like your thinking Simmons. Good job. I’ll go call them right now. You two boys go pick out the room they’ll crash in during their stay at the mighty red base,” he chuckles and walks off to his private quarters. </p><p> </p><p>The remaining two in the kitchen sigh in unison as a crisis was averted. Grif glances at Simmons with an arch of his eyebrow and a questioning look in his eyes. It couldn’t be that hard to say no. What a fucking kissass. </p><p> </p><p>Simmons, on the other hand, crossed his arm to squeeze his arm to relieve some of the tension that was building up in his stomach,”Dude. If you want to say something. Just say it. Staring at me is not going to help anyone,” There was some bite in his words but considering Grif just saved their asses from changing up the system they’ve had in place.</p><p> </p><p>Grif reverts to his usual flat look as he says,”You’re such a kissass,” </p><p> </p><p>“Doing what the commanding officer wants is <em> not </em>considered being a kissass. It actually means they’re a good subordinate,” The redhead shoots back and glares down at Grif. There wasn’t too much of a height difference between them but it was enough that Simmons needs to tilt his head just a bit. Which for some reason, it’s one of those things that gets Grif actually riled up. </p><p> </p><p>The two stare intensely at each other before they look away simultaneously. Simmons coughs hard as his face heats up a bit and Grif is looking around the room as he tries to think of what they should do next. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go locate a room for the rookie?” </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you say,” </p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to blow it up?” <br/><br/></p><p>Michigan jolts hard in his kneeling position. He was currently storing his destroyed armor into a large duffel bag, along with the datapad Simmons said he can take with him. He zips up the bag and stands up,”No. While protocol dictates we blow up armor if an agent is re-”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were special ops?” </p><p> </p><p>Michigan internalizes a scream and pinches the bridge of his nose,”Last day I’m here and you’re interrogating me now? Don’t you have some oreos to shove into your mouth? Or drills to do?” </p><p> </p><p>Grif shrugs and scratches the back of his head,”More like drills I should be <em> avoiding. </em>Sarge is making us do laps around the base and Simmons was tasked in finding me while Sarge is getting ready for his own pick up,” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” <br/><br/>Grif lazily waves him off and heads for the bag to slip a treat in. However, his actions are met with a knife to the throat, “Watch it. Don’t touch myself,” That statement alone gets an eye roll from Grif, even pushing the knife away with a dull look. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah you wouldn’t do that,” keeping his tone flat as he pulls out a small package of Oreos from his jacket,”Listen. I’m <em> only </em> giving you this because you’ve given us pancakes for this week AND for the next several days. So consider us fair. It’s even the golden pack you keep finding. <em> Somehow </em>,” </p><p> </p><p>Ah. There’s the thing Michigan knew he was going to mention. He takes the package to make sure it wasn’t tampered with and holds it in his off-hand, “I was waiting for you to mention that… You hid them in a similar place as someone I knew,” Some fondness. Some sadness. Maybe some resentment, “Thanks anyways. I have no regrets,” </p><p>“Of course you don’t,” Grif mutters and turns on his heel, “You better head out before Simmons finds out. I heard he’s a crier,” </p><p> </p><p>Michigan sometimes wonders why he hasn’t just straight-up murdered this team. They’ve probably taken off several years of his lifetime and grated at his nerves like it’s their full-time job. Especially Grif. For a heavyset man, he’s sneaking around Michigan like child’s play. He knows for a fact that he’s not comfortable with anyone at this base and doesn’t sleep for more than a few hours when it feels like he’s on the verge of collapse. </p><p> </p><p>Yet Grif just- Keeps. On. Appearing. They were too similar and just seeing the orange soldier ticked Michigan off more than it should. He looks at the Oreos in his hand and there’s a quirk of his lip as he slips it into the duffel bag where it originally intended to be. He pulls the straps onto his shoulder and briefly touches his side where the firearm was, along with the knife on his other side. </p><p> </p><p>Make sure those two items were secured, he walks out of base swiftly. He wore regular fatigues with his dog tags tucked under his shirt, away from prying eyes. He was yet to go into the sunlight but the heat hits him all at once, he could already feel the sweat starting to form on his skin, “Fucking canyon…”<br/><br/>He doesn’t walk into the harsh light, watching and listening to the reds for a moment. He can see Simmons walking off to who knows where. The steps didn’t look light, just stomping through dead grass and dirt. Even with dull paint, it was hard to look at the armor for too long. Grif was with Simmons, for some odd reason it looked right. He can hear Sarge making a ruckus in the garage area, presumably where Lopez was. The two were always close to one another, probably much to Lopez’s displeasure. It’s like a constant headache being at the red base. There was never a dull moment. <br/><br/>But the noise from them would eventually be drowned out by his ticket out. A pelican comes in front of the red base entrance, opening its rear to Michigan. A pilot comes down the ramp and it’s Sarge who meets them just as they set a foot down. Michigan stands at the entrance still, arms crossed and leaning against the entrance frame. </p><p> </p><p>There’s a bit of arguing, some half stuttered sirs thrown out there before the pilot ends up yelling, “SIR. I am here to pick up Agent Michigan! He is also known as Lav-” <br/><br/>“Quit yelling, I’m here,” Michigan interrupts, appearing near Sarge’s shoulder, “Agent Michigan, Project Freelancer? You’re my ride out?” </p><p> </p><p>“Y-yes sir. There’s a medic aboard to look over-” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about ol’ Michigan here,” Sarge laughs and claps Michigan on his bad shoulder. Only a small flinch to give away that he registered it, “I’ve been monitoring his health and despite being one step to being mummified, he’s been healing mighty fast,” </p><p> </p><p>Michigan puts a hand out while the other one was tight on his duffel bag strap,“Don’t worry I’m fine Sergeant. Thank you for… Keeping me alive?” The care given was mediocre, he ended up having to patch himself up with the help of Simmons since he actually knew first aid and did a decent job at it. </p><p> </p><p>He laughs and gives him a firm handshake,”Don’t mention it. But remember a deal is a deal, you help when we call,” </p><p> </p><p>The pilot doesn’t even try understanding how a group of simtroopers ended up getting a favor from a freelancer and heads back inside as Michigan gives a two finger-salute and trails behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yo! It's been a hot minute since the last chapter but! Guess what :) </p><p>You got out of Pre-Season One plot!!!! Congratulations :D</p><p>Season One is already plotted and it's almost winter break so I can maybe get another chapter out?</p><p>Thank you for reading and if you want to get in touch you can visit my instagram at @world_loading or my tumblr @world-loading</p><p>Have a pleasant day ^w^b</p>
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